Normal
by RoweenaC
Summary: A normal day in a teenager's life. Or is it? What happens when Dean turns 13? Find out how I picture his "most" important birthday! wee!chesters and papa John... enjoy...


**A/N** This story was written for the Get-Well-Angela challenge over on UnGen. Hope you peeps like it.

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**Normal**

by RoweenaC

Dean opened his eyes sleepily. The cool, late winter sun shone through the partially opaque window and directly onto his freckly face, caressing his cheeks. Eyes falling shut again his mind wandered off. A thought bounced just beyond reach, on the edge of awareness. As he tried to concentrate on it, his mind climbed the last steps to wakefulness and he groaned.

Getting up was usually the worst thing to happen to him during a normal day but on his .... birthday! The memory jumped at him, immediately vanquishing the last remnants of sleepiness. Dean sat upright in a jiffy staring around the room.

Dad had rented the old, two bedroom house a month ago, after he had come home from a very tiring hunt. So, for once, Dean would be able to celebrate his birthday in a real house! Though there wouldn't be a party and no friends to invite.

Dean hardly made friends with kids his own age. Never bothered to, actually. He had learned the hard way in his first year at elementary school that kids of his age didn't understand his family's way of life. At first that had made him feel lonely but as the years had gone by Dean had adapted to it.

Therefore, he now concentrated on the things he could do on this special day. He was thirteen today! And he would be allowed to accompany his dad on dangerous hunts now. John had promised him. Dad would have a tough time weaseling out of that one.

Dean shot a glance at his brother's bed. Already tidied up and neatly folded. '_Such a girl!'_ He mused, dismissively and a little fondly. How on earth had that boy gotten up before him, without waking his older brother?

The newly made teenager looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table and gaped. 11 o'clock? How in hell did he sleep that long? Already, 11 hours of his birthday had passed without him! Dean kicked the covers from him and balled them up at the foot-end of his bed, ignoring the blatant contrast between his and Sam's bed, and jumped to his bare feet.

Ruffling through his sandy brown hair he sucked at his bottom lip and considered taking a shower before going downstairs for a late, unhealthy breakfast. There should still be some leftovers from yesterday's extra cheese pizza in the fridge. If Sam hadn't suffered from one of his annoying fits of cleaning away all greasy and yummy food from their supplies. And he might even talk his father into letting him try coffee. Now that he was officially a hunter, there would be no way around that, either.

Rummaging through the top drawer he plucked out a crumpled LedZep T-shirt and worn-out jeans. Dean quickly snatched a clean pair of boxers and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower and a possible shave – there was definitely a shadow above his upper lip - would be the perfect way to start his birthday.

Fifteen minutes later, hair still wet from his prolonged shower and with a slightly disgruntled look on his face, Dean shuffled down the stairs to the first floor. Setting out to shave for the first time in his life, he had discovered that the expected peach fuzz had only been dirt the rinsing water had washed down the drain. However, nothing would spoil this day!

"Sammy?" he called in his cracking voice and looked around the small and very functional kitchen. No answer. Maybe his kid-brother had gone out with dad, who also seemed to be absent. He turned to the fridge and opened it as his stomach grumbled demandingly. Scanning the interior, Dean frowned. Obviously Sam had purged the fridge this morning. Only green stuff (_bunny food!_), milk and yogurt had survived the raid. The pizza was gone. As were the marshmallow spread, mayonnaise, spray cheese and the bacon. Thus, he couldn't eat bacon and eggs because the latter had vanished, too. Swearing under his breath he grabbed the milk, took out a bowl and moved towards the counter to choose from a variety of cereals. Only Sam had done a good job this time. No Fruit Loops, no Frosties, Smacks or Cocoa Pops, not even plain cornflakes. He bent closer to decipher the weird letters on the only remaining cardboard box.

"M-u-e-s-l-i. That's not even a word! How'd you eat something nobody can say? Hell! SAMMY!" Dean roared his sibling's name in frustration but his voice betrayed him at the last vowel leaving his mouth, and pitched the full tone to a girlish squeal. Putting the bowl down a little too forcefully it cracked and he cursed, a number of expletives leaving his teenage mouth he had heard his father use in especially demanding situations.

"Son!" His father's booming voice filled the room at once, disrupting Dean's rant. The boy froze in mid sentence and moved around slowly; a sheepish look on his face as he answered with a well rehearsed "Yessir!".

John's eyes swiveled between the open fridge door and the split bowl on the counter and a sly grin bloomed on his stubbly face deepening the small and rarely seen wrinkles at the corners of his dark eyes. He leveled his voice and took up a kind tone, while putting down two large brown paper bags on the rickety table.

"Why don't you go outside and help Sammy with the shopping while I clear this away?"

"Uhm, yeah. Sure." Dean mumbled and his face fell a little. He had expected a rebuke. Even – though in a far away corner of his mind - imagined his father to congratulate him on his birthday, but being asked to bring in the shopping certainly hadn't crossed his mind.

Not before he even got the chance to eat.

Grumpily shuffling to the front door, he shot daggers at his father's broad back. The moment his right hand lowered the handle, the door was thrown open, missing his forehead by an inch and a smiling, eight-year-old's face bobbed into sight, hazel eyes almost level with his green gaze. "Son of a..."

"DEAN!"

"Sorry, dad. But Sammy nearly knocked me out with that door!"

Mumbling a quick "Bitch!" at his grinning brother, Sam threw a hushed "Jerk!" back at him.

Half an hour later, Dean, being alone again, finally sat down at the table and munched away happily, glad that his brother and father had bought some decent cereals (Kellogg's Special K). Although they were usually eaten by blond supermodels on TV.

Pondering the recent events, Dean realized that neither Dad nor Sam had mentioned his birthday. Dad was one thing. He almost always forgot about "normal" things most father's wouldn't. But Sammy? His thoughtful, chick-flick little brother? Dean's spirits sank to an all time low. Where was the fun in birthdays if no one remembered them? He could deal without a party, friends and – God forbid! - clowns or something like that. Although the thought of a clown brought a smile to his sulking face. Sam would be crying his eyes out!

Relishing his vengeful ideas he finished his breakfast silently and cleared away the dish. His gaze rested on the coffee machine and a wide grin spread on his face. Dean grabbed the coffee powder and filled the machine for two cups then added water and sat down watching the machine work its magic. A few minutes, later the smell of hot and fresh coffee wafted through the kitchen making Dean's mouth water as he filled his first cup to the brim. The dark liquid bathed his tongue and throat with a bitter, yet pleasant, taste and Dean swallowed, mentally following the hot sensation in his throat down to his stomach where it unfurled like a soothing, warming blanket on a cold winter's night. This was the best he had ever tried. Better than cocoa with marshmallows after ice-skating. Better than home-made lemonade on a hot summer's afternoon.

"Dean?" He winced at his father's voice from behind and quickly put down the cup to turn around.

"Yeah? I just... y' know..."

"You like some cake with your coffee?" His father stepped aside, making room for a cheerful Sammy holding up a chocolate fudge cake topped with thirteen lit candles and decorated with the slogan "Dean 's thirteen" made from peanut M&M's. Dean's mouth fell open and his eyes nearly pooped out at that.

"I made it myself, Dean! This morning. Dad helped, too." Sam looked up at the towering form of his father as John ruffled a hand through the brown curls.

"We didn't have any candles and the M&M's though. So we went out shopping. You like it?" Babbling in his high voice Sam offered the cake to Dean, who still stood gaping, eyes wandering between his father, Sammy and the cake.

Snorting, John asked his older son "Lost your voice? No smart replies for a change?"

Dean could only muster a feeble shake of his head. Suddenly an unfamiliar stinging sensation in his eyes brought him back to his senses. He had forgotten to blink and unbidden tears were welling up. If caused by staring or because of this unusually emotional scene Dean couldn't say. Lowering his head and blinking furiously he cleared his dry throat audibly.

"Thanks, guys. Uhm. Shall we ... uhm eat?" He looked at his family standing expectantly in front of him and felt a broad smile lighting his features. They hadn't forgotten. Not even Dad.

"You gotta blow out the candles first, Dean. Remember? And make a wish! That's what you told me!" Bouncing up and down, cake wobbling precariously with his motion, Sam stretched out his arms towards his grinning brother and Dean blew. The wish would be his secret though, just in case. It might actually come true then.

"And now you have to open your presents, son." Only at that moment, Dean noticed that his father's hands were behind his back, obviously hiding ... gifts. Real birthday presents! As John moved his arms to the front, two neatly wrapped packages dangled in Dean's line of sight. His eyes moved from the presents to his father's face, unbelieving yet immensely grateful.

Dean reached hesitantly for the two parcels. One was about 15 inches long and rather flat. The other seemed to be squashy and soft inside as its wrapping was a bit more wrinkled and the sides hung down where John's hand didn't support them. He looked at the only two people close to him and held the presents up. Dean thought he knew which came from whom. The squishy one was most certainly Sam's, while the other was his Dad's. Sam had his hands behind his back but his eyes never left Dean's. John had put one strong arm on his little brother's shoulder and the other rubbed at his stubble. He appeared a little self-conscious at the emotional impact of the situation.

Werewolves, witches and vampires he could take on. His sons, however, and their demands always showed him his limitations. John Winchester was a man of action. He knew what to do about the supernatural threats surrounding his boys. Simple, everyday things like birthdays or even a kind appraisal of an achievement in his boys' lives on the other hand were almost as hard on him as climbing Mount Everest without oxygen. Watching apprehensively as Dean first unwrapped Sam's present he noted the satisfied smile flashing across his eldest son's face.

Dean held out the T-shirt to look at it carefully. Sam had chosen a shirt with the Metallica logo on the chest and the dates of the latest tour across the States on the back, knowing full well that Dean had sneaked off one night to watch them live on stage when one of the concerts had taken place near their current motel. It had turned out to be one of the best nights of his life. The only thing missing had been money to buy one of the shirts offered by the merchandise stands outside as a souvenir. Dean searched his brother's eyes and gave him an appreciative wink.

"Thanks, Sammy. That's awesome." Dimples deepening, Sam looked up at his Dad and back at Dean, contentment and pride showing on his young face.

"Go ahead, Dean. Open Dad's!" Excitement lent Sam's voice an even higher pitch than usual and Dean grinned.

"Dude, you sound like a girl."

"Look who's talking!" Sam shot back and both boys cracked up with laughter, their father watching them bemused until he chimed in, his bass voice underlining their high, youthful laughter.

When their laughs had finally abated to occasional chortles, Dean set off to unwrap the second present. Carefully and slowly he prised away the tape, trying to savor the pleasant feeling of anticipation coursing through his system, speeding his heart-beat. He knew this emotion had to last for a long time. It had to become a moment to remember when times would be tougher again. When the Winchester kind of normality returned. He screwed up his face at that thought, realizing once again, that "normal" had a different tang to it in his world than in that of other kids. Pushing the slightly sobering, sad thought away he concentrated on his task.

Something silvery reflected the sunshine to sting in his eyes. Dean peeled away the last bit of wrapping paper and gaped - again. Disbelief shone in his round eyes as he watched the crisp, new hunting knife lying in his right hand. The handle was made of light wood and the shiny blade was free from dents or other signs of usage. "Dad... that's... that's." At a loss for words he swallowed hard, locked his eyes upon his father's and simply shut his mouth with an audible _clank_.

"You are old enough for hunting now, Dean. So, I thought you could use a good knife. I sharpened and polished it. You still wanna go hunting, right?"

As if that had ever been open for discussion. However, the question made the present ten times better. John had asked his opinion. Like a grown-up speaking to his peer. And a knife on top of that. Dean felt the pressure and the promise of new responsibilities rushing through him. Adrenalin. What a day...

Later, when he was lying in his bed and watched as the digital display of his alarm clock announced only six remaining minutes of his birthday, Dean recaptured the past day. He had been granted a normal, perfect birthday. A cake, presents, happiness and, above all, normality. Family. And to top it all, Dad had spoken to him as if he were a grown-up and presented him with a wonderful blade.

A better present than the gleaming knife, now hidden snugly under his pillow, one hand clasped around its hilt, he couldn't think of.

At this thought Dean slowly drifted off to peaceful sleep, a smile lingering on his freckled, young face.


End file.
